Confident
by TWDwalker5
Summary: Eric notices the way Tris ducks away from commotion. He is guaranteed that she chose the wrong faction. After all, Dauntless are confident. And she hasn't even been kissed before. Eric's mission is to change that. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! So as I am in my write-all-day-every-day-mood for what seems like a while, I decided to take advantage of it. I caught up will most Eris fics and took inspiration, which motivated me to start this. I want this story to be a short one but if you guys want me to take it further, so be it.**

 **Enjoy :)**

His icy eyes watched the Stiff. They observed how she pathetically slapped the punching bag, not even managing to budge it. The hair in her ponytail swung from side to side, going above her head. At this rate her head is doing more work than her arms. She is weak. And way too self-conscious.

He notices how she stops and looks around every twenty seconds, as if expecting somebody to pounce on her, criticizing everything about her. But nobody is watching. Except from him.

Eric shakes his head in slight annoyance. She is not achieving anything.

He looks over at Molly, narrowing his eyes at how she uses her whole body to throw a punch. Then his eyes slide over to Peter and he nods in approval when Peter's fighting partner falls to the floor, covering his face. For a second, he contemplates helping the injured. But then Four walks over and checks up on the pair. So Eric turns his eyes back to the Stiff.

She is standing still now. Not punching. Not glancing around. But looking at her hands. Out of everything she could possibly do during training, she chooses to look at her hands. Mentally, Eric admits to himself that even from the distance between them, he can clearly see the red and purple marks snaking up her wrists. Nevertheless, she should stop feeling sorry for herself.

Suddenly, he can't take much longer. His anger rises up to his mouth and he yells, "Quit pissing around!"

It is as if Tris knew that Eric was talking to her. Faster than lightning, she glues her eyes back to the punching bag and starts slapping it again. No longer bothering to make a fist.

Then his aftershock comes, "Put some back into it!"

He receives scattered glances from the other initiates, but none of them choose to keep their eyes on the leader for longer than a second.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

After training, everyone but Tris leave to go to the dining hall. She was thinking hard about what Eric has said to them before. If you are below the red line after the first stages of training, you get cut. And quite frankly, taking on board all the yelling Eric did today during the fights and knife throwing, she knew she was not going to make it. Unless. Unless she put the time into it. Her free time.

Tris knew she was shit at everything so far. She does not fit it. She is not like everybody else either. Divergent or not, she does not fit in physically. So her greatest idea of the day was to skip dinner and continue training. She tries to ignore the pain in her hands. She tries to make a fist and use her whole body and sway the punching bag. But her confidence is low. She is not good enough. She is not good enough at all.

"Initiate!" The booming voice makes her jump five feet in the air. She gasps loudly as her nickname echoes through the training hall. Eric emerges from the shadows, holding what looks like a jacket and looking more pissed off than usual. The piercing in his eyebrow quirks up as he saunters closer to the girl, "Skipping dinner, are we?"

"I'm just," she gestures to the punching bag covered with her blood, stepping away and looking down. She hopes that she can make a good attempt at trailing off and leaving Eric to continue talking, but he just stares at her expectedly.

"Just what?" The jacket in his hand gets tossed into a corner.

"I... I was trying to practice my-"

"You of all people should know, Stiff," he starts, "That without required calories, you will not be able to perform."

Tris stares at him for half a second before nodding, and turning on her heel, starting to walk towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" He spits.

She turns to look at him again, stroking her bleeding hand as she cups it with her other one, "I... To dinner."

"Not very consistent, are you?" She chooses to stay quiet, having made the mistake of talking back to him and receiving awkward remarks afterwards, "Does it hurt?"

Tris watches the way his eyes trail down to her hand and stay there. She decides to look at it too. Her mouth opens to say no but as she flexes her fingers, a numbing pain courses through her wrist. She grimances.

She can practically hear Eric rolls his eyes afterwards. Then he steps closer to her, boots stomping the concrete floor. And the entire atmosphere changes. All blood (or what is left of it) rushes to her face and she has to look down. From this angle she can see the tips of his boots nearly touching hers. He reaches out and grabs her wrist, twisting it so that he can take a better look.

It's ridiculous being scared of him. She can't avoid eye contact forever.

Tris then glances up, her lips pressed into a firm line, "It looks broken."

His massive hand squeezes the middle of hers gently. She cries out in pain, trying to pull it away from him. He is too strong, "It is broken."

Eric's face mocks up a crappy attempt at displaying sympathy. His lower lip sticks out slowly as he shakes his head and tuts, "Bet you think you'll get a doctor's note and sit on the benches as your friends fight."

"No," she furrows her eyebrows, "Not at all."

"It's your own fault," he grumbles, releasing her hand, "An old lady can punch better than you."

"Old ladies don't get a place reserved at Dauntless."

"And you do?" Eric steps closer, grabbing her other arm, "I have just about had it with you, initiate." His piercing glare shoots right through her. Her knees feel weak. She starts glancing away uncomfortably, "Go over there and punch that target. I fucking hope that you feel the pain. Otherwise you are not doing it right."

"But you said that my hand is broken-"

"I said," he takes a pause to inhale in frustration, "Go punch that target."

Tris gulps quietly as he releases her. This is not going to end well. How is she supposed to learn how to punch if nobody is actually showing her how to?

As if reading her thoughts, Eric growls, "And don't you dare blame this on Dauntless leadership. It's all your fault."

She rolls her eyes when she turns around, knowing that he can't see. With every step towards the target on the punching bag, she begins feeling more and more uncomfortable. He is digging his glare right into her back and it burns. The lights seem to dim slightly, but then Tris figures that it is just the sun going down.

Eric sighs loudly. Shouldn't he be eating with everyone else instead of givinhg her a hard time about not eating? Hypocrite.

A wince escapes her mouth as she forces her fingers to curl into a fist. It is agonizing. But that should not be mentioned here as a complaint. It's just a broken hand. She isn't dying.

"Today, initiate," he speaks from behind her. It feels like he is a few inches away from her, but she doesn't dare to turn around. With all the power she can muster, her hand flies into the punching bag, creating a loud noise to echo across the hall. Tris doesn't know if the noise was the flesh against rubber or a scream which bubbled up from her throat. All she knows is that there is no way she will be able to use this hand again for at least a week.

 **Soooooo what did you think? Review and tell me :)**

 **Should I make this into a longer story?**

 **Guys, later on there are guaranteed lemons, so the rating will have to change to M.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Wow! There was so much positive feedback for the first chapter, thank you guys :)**

 **Here is chapter 2...**

Tris limps down a corridor, new bruises covering her face. Eric was getting tired of this. She was getting her ass kicked again. She is not learning anything. And all motivation left her before she even found it.

He storms up to her in the corridor, enjoying the way she squirms when she sees him. The sun has just set. The only light was coming from dull blue lamps in the rocky walls.

He squints when he sees a snow white bandage squeezing her left hand. She automatically hides it in her folded arms. A sign of weakness, right?

"Who told you to feel sorry for yourself?"

Tris shakes her head, stumbling backwards and pressing her back against the wall, "I was in pain."

"You don't know the meaning of the word," Eric growls, suddenly grabbing her chin with his fingers, "If I see you skipping training again to go to the medical room, you're out."

She winces quietly as his fingers press against the purple bruise on her jawline. She tries to look down, to get away from his brutal stare, but he keeps her head in place, his nose inches away from hers.

"Are you afraid?" He asks, a smirk slithering across his face.

She takes a deep breath before replying, "Everybody is afraid."

"Bullshit," he growls, "Peter isn't afraid. Edward isn't afraid..."

Picking favourites again. Like he does! Tris almost rolls her eyes, but his firm grip make her close them instead. He glares at her, taking his time to observe the small cut above her eyebrow.

"You fight like a virgin," his words make her open her eyes in surprise. A wave of heat rushes up to her face, and she feels her ears go red. Why would he say that? What does her sexual history have to do with any of it?

She is thankful when he releases her chin because that means she can finally look down. He musn't notice her blush.

A cold breeze wheezes past her bare arms. She glances up to see Eric leaning in closer. Does he have any spacial awareness at all? Automatically, she starts glancing from side to side, planning her possible escape route. He is too close. And she is too intimidated. She might not be strong, but she is fast. And if he tries anything on her, she can duck under the arm he places against a wall and run away.

"Follow me," he orders, suddenly pulling again. She watches him like a deer in headlights, waiting for him to get some distance from her before starting to walk. She cannot refuse his orders. And she cannot run away, even if she tries. There is always that moment the next morning when she has to see the leader in the training room. And quite frankly, receiving cold glares and possibly a beating would not be such a good thing for her right now.

She takes a deep breath, starting to limp forward, "Where are we going?"

Eric glances over his shoulder, furrows his eyebrows and continues walking, completely blanking her out.

Tris rolls her eyes behind his back, watching as the geometric tattoos on his arms dance around, highlighting his rippling muscles. Why does he have to be so mysterious?

Her feet drag her after him. She is unsure if she wants to follow. She is afraid. But what better way to spend a Thursday evening than getting yourself into awkward situations with your leader? It's not like she has anything to do now anyway, except from moaning in pain.

Tris breaks into a jog when Eric reaches a set of stairs and starts taking them two at a time. Every muscle in her body screams in pain, begging for her to stop, but she ignores it.

All of a sudden, Eric stops near a door with the number '7' nailed to it. She bumps into his back, receiving an intense glare from him. She looks down.

"My apartment," he grumbles angrily, pulling out a copper key to unlock the door. His apartment? Oh god, his apartment. Why is she here? She should have gotten away earlier. The glares in the morning would not seem to be so bad compared to this.

Tris takes a causcious step back, hugging herself. He is going to kill her and get rid of the evidence by serving her meat at the dining hall. She can see it now. He hates her. And he wants to kill her.

Eric opens the door and strides in, taking a deep breath inside. But when Tris doesn't follow him in, he doesn't come back out. She stands in the hall awkwardly, feeling the pressure slide off her shoulders. There is a clanging noise in his apartment. She imagines him pulling out a glass and pouring himself a drink.

Okay, maybe he does not want to kill her. Maybe he is actually being nice. Maybe.

Tris takes a deep breath and shakes her head before walking inside and closing the door behind her. There. She is inside.

His apartment looks like the rest of the Dauntless building. Same rocky walls. Same windows. Same atmosphere. The only difference is the bright light. It illuminates the whole room.

"Drink," he says. She looks over to where he is standing. There is a glass on the kitchen counter, filled to the top with a brown liquid.

She decides to play it safe, "I'm not thirsty."

"I said drink. That is an order."

She gulps loudly before walking further into the apartment. He takes his own glass and downs it in half a second. Is it some sort of water? He makes it look easy to drink. It's not alcohol then. Just some brown water. Dauntless water. Huh.

She takes another step forward and grabs the glass more confidently. His eyes are on her again. Tris gives him a nervous glance before sipping her brown drink. She doesn't know what she expected. It burns her lips first. She forces herself to swallow, feeling her walls melt away from the heat.

At first, she thinks she can make it without spluttering everywhere but once the liquid reaches her stomach, her throat tighens and she coughs into the glass.

There is an exasperated sigh from Eric, "Whiskey," he introduces the new drink as she continues coughing, "Guess this was your first time.."

She puts the glass down, covering her mouth with both her hands as tears sting her eyes. He is officially insane. On what planet is it okay to consume this thing?

A warm hand presses against her back. She would have jumped away, but it is so surprisingly comforting. She coughs one last time before uncovering her mouth and turning to face him. She sees his icy glare. And she looks down for the thousandth time since arriving at Dauntless.

 **So apparently this story will be a slow burn. I wasn't expecting that. I was hoping for them to make out by the second chapter.**

 **Review :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello again :) I'm just gonna go straight into the story... Enjoy.**

They threw yet another party in the Pit. Dauntless. It's like they have nothing better to do. Well... They probably don't. And Tris doesn't either.

She and her friends just got back from the tattoo parlour. They weren't surprised when at one in the morning the Pit was full of dancing teenagers. The music was booming across the whole area, deafening Tris.

"Woo, yeah!" Christina yells next to her before jumping into the crowd, waving her hands in the air as the beat drops. Will goes after her. Just an hour ago, she watched her friend wince in pain as an inking needle prodded her upper arm, making her skin vibrate. She decided on a sharp design. Some squiggles highlighting a tiger's eye. It suits her. And after a few drinks, the pain was forgotten.

Tris smiles slightly, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. She got herself a tattoo as well. Three black birds flying up her collarbone. A bird for each family member left behind. It fills her with dread as she remembers her parent's faces at the Choosing Ceremony. She left them behind.

Tori did her tattoo. She finally opened up about the danger of her Divergence. It still makes her wary how she has to hide it from her friends. And basically everyone she knows. She just has to get the initiation process over with. Then she will be safe. But that is another problem: getting through initiation. A sad sigh escapes her lips. She has to work harder. Her bandaged hand reaches her chin and she feels the soft material. Being a wuss won't help.

"Tris!" A loud voice makes her jump. It belongs to Eric. Of course. She turns to see him walking up to her. Her insides automatically churn. The last time she saw him was when she tried whiskey. The drink of the devil. She doesn't know why he wanted her to drink it so badly. To get her drunk? To get in her pants? No, no.. He's a leader. That is forbidden. And wrong. And she is not his type.

Still, the thought makes her shrink into the ground.

He walks up to her in his cocky manner, raising his metallic cup before sipping it. Whiskey probably. He watches her as he drinks. And when he is finished, his eyes at still on her face. She doesn't know what to say.

Thankfully, he speaks first, "Tattoo?"

Tris raises her eyebrows, "Hmm?" Her eyes fall on his. They are staring at her chest. So she follows his gaze and nods innocently, "Yeah... I... I just had it done."

Her breath hitches when she feels his hot hand on her neck. She can't breathe. She freezes. But he seems unfazed.

"It suits you," he murmurs, eyes narrowing.

"T-Thank you," Tris replies. His hand is still there. On her neck. On her skin.

Eric senses her fear like a dog. Mostly, he guesses she is nervous by how her heart is hammering against his palm. He takes his chance. His hand relaxes and his fingers part, each one trailing down a different curve.

She holds her breath.

Two of his fingers trace one of the birds slowly, the rest of his hand hiding under her bra strap. Oh god. What is happening?

She jumps away quickly when it gets too much and regrets it instantly. Her skin turns colder. Even a shudder runs down her spine.

Eric is smirking though. He knows he got a reaction out of her. And he knows how cold she starts to feel. This is typical shy girl behaviour. It's just a matter of time before she gets attached. Her curiosity will win.

 **Sorry for the short chapter. Another one coming soon though :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Enjoy this one :)**

Her legs were burning. It happened again. She can't believe it. She got lost in all the twisted corridors. How long will it take for her to get used to this place?

Today was eventful enough already, and now she can't seem to find a way out of this dark maze. There is a flickering bulb ten feet away from her. She runs over to it, hope building up in her chest. Once she stops, she sees the dead end with a plain metallic door. Not this way either. She turns again. She runs back to where she started. This is the part of Dauntless she hadn't discovered yet. And right now isn't the time to explore. She is supposed to be in bed.

A trickle of sweat runs between her shoulder blades as the image of Eric pops into her head. He has her wrapped around his little finger. She wasn't sure of it until today. Today was eventful. She continues walking as she thinks back to the events at knife-throwing training. Eric was stood there. Staring at her. She squinted at her target, unable to concentrate. The thudding and clanging on knives against the floor, filled the room, somehow making her feel safe.

Also, Christina was next to her. And Al... and Will... She was never alone. So why was she so worked up?

"You're kinda good at this," Christina complimented, playing with a rusty knife in her hand. Tris glanced over at her, smirking. She was good at this. There was no denying it.

So why was Eric looking at her like she was the worst student ever?

She glanced away from him again, licking her dry lips before throwing another knife. Four was pacing back and forth near the first target, trying to notice the initiates who needed extra help. His eyes almost always landed on Al.

"Throw harder!" A deep voice ordered behind her back. Eric. Shit. Was he talking to her? She took her chances and glanced over her shoulder at him. He was so close. But his eyes were on Christina. And he was glaring at her target.

Tris' entire body relaxed. Although the proximity of his voice was sending a weird electric pulse to her lower regions. What was that all about? The best thing to do was to ignore that feeling and blend in with the other initiates. So she did. She threw another knife. And it hit the center of her target. A smile spread across her face.

"Nice shot," Eric's voice murmured behind her. He was still behind the girls. Slowly creeping up to the former Abnegation. Tris tensed up, looking over at him. He was grinning. Actually grinning. Out of all the things she could have felt at that moment, it had to be fear. She didn't think he was even bothered by her knife throwing skills. It had to be something else.

"Thanks," she stuttered, looking over at the target and then at him again. She was hoping he would follow her gaze, but his eyes always stayed on her. Always. It made her nervous.

"Keep it up," he stepped closer, snaking his enormous arm around her tiny waist, "You'll score high today," he added. Tris felt wetness pooling between her legs as his hand rested just below her breast at her ribcage. Was he insane? People were starting to look. But just as soon as his hand squeezed around her waist, he pulled away, stalking off in another direction.

Self-consciously, she glanced around the room, thankful that nobody's gaze lingered longer than one second.

"That was weird," Christina said, furrowing her eyebrows as she turned back to throw. There was a hint of jealousy in her eyes. Probably because Eric was shamelessly showing favoritism.

And that carried on through the rest of the day. His lingering touches as he passed her in the dinner hall. His stares as she failed to stop glancing at him. It was partly her fault. She was curious. And he knew. So he took advantage. And she wasn't sure if she wanted it to stop. Even though it was wrong.

Tris stumbles into a wall, not noticing it in the dark. Where is her way out? It feels like she has been here for hours. She sighs in frustration, close to giving up. Her hope is that somebody finds her here. Then she can ask for directions.

"Initiate," her heart freezes. She whips around. And there he is. Eric. Walking over to her like she is a trapped rabbit and he is the big cat, "Shouldn't you be in your dorm?"

"I..." her voice creaks and breaks off completely as he steps closer to her. He is so close that she can feel the heat radiating from his bare arms.

"Lost?" he swallows something he was chewing a few seconds ago. He must have just walked out of the dining hall. That means it's not far from here. And she couldn't find it. Stupid girl.

Tris clears her throat, attempting to speak again, "Can you take me back?"

Eric raises his eyebrows, looking surprised, "I have a better idea."

SHSHSHSHSH

The door to his apartment opens. And he walks in. Tris clenches her bandaged hand and shakes her head, listing all the possible routes this encounter could take. He was being creepy all day and to top it up, he has taken her to his apartment. Again. What makes him think she will be this lenient?

Nevertheless, she steps in, embracing her Dauntless side. This is ridiculous. Being this afraid is childish. Someday she might meet an even more intimidating person and what will she do then? Surely it is better to throw herself into the deep end at the start.

She releases a shaky breath, closing the door behind her. Eric trails his eyes down her body hungrily, not bothering to hide it.

After an awkward silence, she decides to be the first to speak, "Why am I here?"

"I don't know," he answers, "You chose to follow me."

Her face heats up, "I didn't think I had a choice."

"Hmm," Eric sighs, muscles rippling beneath his skin. Tris' heart almost jumps out of her chest when he pulls his vest apart, letting it slide off his shoulders. He tosses it onto his couch, revealing a plain black vest, "Kinda hot, don't you think?"

It really is. She is tempted to unzip her jacket, but afraid to give off the wrong message and be suggestive. Instead, she puffs some air onto her forehead, bits of hair flying around.

Eric smirks slightly, reaching behind to scratch his neck. His arm looks bigger at this angle. She is full-on staring now. Not daring to feel ashamed. She knows exactly what he wants.

Suddenly, he starts walking up to her. And when she thinks he will stop right in front of her like he always does, he crosses that border, his face hovering inches away from hers. She holds his stare for as long as she can. And then looks away.

"Tris," he whispers, grabbing both of her hands and pressing them against the cold rocky wall behind her. She whimpers quietly, feeling how strong his grip is. He won't let go. She is terrified. But cannot find the strength to speak up about it.

He is pushing her limits. His mouth breathes hot, raspy breaths onto hers. His top lip grazes hers, making her gasp.

"I've been watching you for a while now," his voice just below a whisper.

"Agh..." Tris manages, moving her head to the side. This is wrong. This is favoritism.

His breath is on her neck now, trailing down to her collarbone. He has to crouch to reach that place. The grip he has on her wrists has loosened and she takes her chance, wriggling them out to place her hands on his broad shoulders. Either he is playing stupid or doesn't get the hint. Because he presses himself against her body, planting wet kisses on her neck.

Tris bites her lip to conceal her moan. She wants this as well. She knows it now. The only thing stopping her from giving herself to him is herself. Her hands shake too much. Her thighs rub together. She is burning now.

Eric pulls away to stare into her eyes. It lasts for about a second. Then his lips crash against hers.

And there it is. Her first kiss. Not in a place she imagined. Not with the person she daydreamed about. But it is so much better than her dreams.

His lips are warm. No, not warm. Hot, even. They explore every place possible. From the corners of her mouth to the tip of her chin. He kisses so hungrily that Tris starts to question if this is his first time as well.

She squeezes his tense shoulders, gasping as he slams his hand against the wall behind her head, "Open your mouth."

She is too baffled to even question it. Her lips part slowly, moaning as his tongue darts between them. His arms squeeze around her body, lifting her up off her feet.

Does this mean he likes her? Or is he just trying to get into her pants? Why would he? She is the worst person he could have possibly found for that sort of activity.

"Oh, Tris," he grunts as he presses his lips against hers one more time. She kisses back, finally opening her eyes. His are closed. Thank God. His nose rubs against hers roughly but lovingly.

"Eric," she whimpers as he puts her down. That is when his eyes open. And she is rendered speechless again.

"Tell me you don't want this as much as I do," his eyes pierce through her innocent orbs, "I won't believe you, Tris."

"I have to get back-"

"Stay," he cuts her off, pecking her lips slowly, "You can sleep here."

Tris raises her eyebrows before looking away. Sleep here? Yeah, right.

His fingers grip her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyebrows are furrowed, outlining the anger on his face. She better talk before he does.

"Are you going to do sex with me?"

Eric laughs harshly and suddenly, making her jump. He shakes his head, pulling away slightly, "No. I don't 'do' sex."

She quirks an eyebrow, having barely no time to think about what that might mean, "I can't stay."

"I'm the leader," he turns serious again, "If you think sleeping here would get you into trouble, you're wrong."

 **Please review :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Tris wakes up to coffee beans grinding against each other in the kitchen. She doesn't have to open her eyes to know that it is way too early for breakfast.

With a groan, she allows her arm to stretch over to the other side of the bed. Crisp, cold sheets is what finally makes her open her eyes. Wait… this isn't her dormitory.

She bolts up in bed. And suddenly the events from yesterday start flooding back. How she was lost in the Dauntless corridors… how Eric found her. How he brought her back to his apartment. And the kiss… Oh, God, she kissed Eric. Well, no, he kissed her first. And she kissed back.

Automatically, her fingers dart up to her lips, feeling the bruises underneath them. He kisses hard.

She looks down at herself, noticing how she is not wearing her clothes. She is wearing somebody else's. Oversized black sweater. A pair of boxer shorts. She would have thought that they belonged to anybody, but in this case, she knows the story behind them. So they must be Eric's.

She remembers how she changed into them. He allowed her some privacy- walking out of the room and waiting for her to get dressed. He came back a while later and as if they have been married for years, rolled into the bed and went straight to sleep. Tris reluctantly copied. She was worried that he would try something inappropriate. Why else would he want her to sleep over so badly?

But nothing happened. They just slept. They didn't touch each other. They just slept. Maybe he was lonely. She still knows nothing about him.

The digital clock on the night stand displays the time. 6:05am. Why is she awake again? Oh, yes. The raucous noises coming from the coffee machine behind the door.

She has no training today either. It's a Sunday.

"Ugh," Tris moans, collapsing back onto the soft pillows. The mattress squeaks underneath her and for half a second, her whole body wobbles from side to side. She leaves her eyes open and finds herself staring at the ceiling.

If only she knew what was going on inside that head of his. Everything would be so much easier.

The coffee grinding stops and all of a sudden it's totally silent. She pulls the covers up to her chin, inhaling the musky scent that was imbedded here from the first time Eric has ever touched these sheets. She smells raw animal… and weak cologne… and now coffee. But it doesn't come from the sheets she has nuzzled herself into.

"Sleep well?" Eric's husky voice fills the room. She gasps silently, tilting her head forward to see him. Him. She didn't even hear him open the door.

He stands there with a black mug, steam swirling up from it and blurring his face. There is a grin there. He steps closer.

"Yeah, fine," she answers, sitting up and holding the covers over her chest. As if she was naked. Eric doesn't seem to notice though. He takes a big gulp of the drink.

"Here," he sits on the edge of the bed, making it sink slightly as he extends his occupied hand, "It's coffee."

Tris stares at it like a paralyzed sloth for a moment. But then takes it with both hands. The mug is scorching hot, so she pulls her (Eric's) sweater lower down her palms, "Is there whiskey in it?"

Eric gives her a smug grin, apparently looking impressed. With what? She doesn't know, "You wish."

She breaks eye contact first to take a small sip. It burns the roof of her mouth and continues firing up her insides as the coffee swims down her throat. Tears begin stinging her eyes, but she blinks them away. How does he drink so easily? His body must be immune to pain.

"Enough," he murmurs, taking the mug away and placing it on the nightstand next to the clock. Her hands intertwine awkwardly, having no excuse to look busy. She glances around the room uncomfortably, clearing her hot throat. When her eyes land back on his, he is staring. He was always staring.

"What?" she asks.

"I know what your problem is," he moves closer, mattress squeaking beneath them. Tris raises her eyebrows.

"Excuse me?"

"I said," He repeats, "I know what your problem is."

"I have a problem?" she furrows her eyebrows, beginning to feel slightly offended. Of course. Maybe he just wants to knock down her confidence. That way she cannot pass the first stage of initiation. And it will give Eric great pleasure to see her rummaging through a dumpster with her factionless family.

Eric furrows his eyebrows, "The first tactic of solving a problem is to acknowledge that you have one."

Tris stares at him in slight shock, suddenly feeling dumb. How could she have kissed him? He's not recalling it at all, and on top of that he is insinuating there is something wrong with her. She shakes her head, letting out a laugh.

"Okay… I have to go," she says, throwing the covers aside. A part of them is underneath Eric, so she can't quite get them out. Her feet are pressed together. She is stuck. She starts trying to tug the blanket out from under him. Something tells her that he won't let her go.

"Where?"

"I don't know. Away from you," he flinches slightly at her brutal remark. But the pain wipes off his face in under a second. Tris starts questioning whether she actually saw it. His eyes harden. And he leans in.

She holds her breath.

"So," he starts, "You kissed the Dauntless leader and now you have a big mouth," he tuts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "That's not acceptable, Tris."

What's not acceptable? Kissing him back? Having a big mouth? How is she expected to defend herself here?

A shiver runs down her spine as he trails his hand down her neck. She remembers how he touched her there before. Just after she got her raven tattoo. It did not end well. She was left hot and bothered. And apparently history will repeat itself. Se better stay quiet and play along.

"What do you think?" he asks, cupping her petite shoulder with his hand.

"I… I don't know," she stammers, feeling him squeeze her.

"You don't know?" his voice becomes more gentle and his eyebrows raise, as if talking to a small child. She hates it. And he can see that. Nevertheless, he doesn't break character, "Well, that's too bad."

She licks her dry lips, hoping he wouldn't let his eyes linger on them, but they do. He even reaches across with his thumb to press it into the corner of her mouth. The pain of bruises comes back to her. She wonders for a second if they are noticeable. Wouldn't look too good if she walked around with a purple mouth after disappearing to sleep in someone else's bed.

Eric's voice restores his husky tone again, "Your problem is that you're a fucking wimp."

She looks over into his eyes, gasping at how intense his glare is. What the hell is his problem?

"You couldn't stand up for yourself if your life depended on it," he grunts, leaning back and then forward again. Closer than he was before.

Tris has to remind herself to stay quiet. Even if she shows the slightest hint of anger, he will make her pay for it. Her eyes travel away from him, and she struggles not to roll them.

"Nothing to say?" he smirks, "Again."

She shoots a glare in his direction without meaning to. And as soon as he sees it, his hand is around her throat, pushing her back onto the mattress.

 **Ooooooh, what will happen next? Review ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**The rating has changed to M for all the obvious reasons ;) Enjoy.**

Automatically, her hands fly over to his tattooed wrist. They tighten around it, desperately trying to find a way of pushing him back before he cuts off her air supply. Tris swallows while she can, then her eyes widen at the figure looming above her.

Eric's eyes are hard, focused directly on hers- which are like giant black sauce pans. He leans forward, not even flinching when one of her hands shoves at his muscular chest. He looks like he is about to say something when Tris cuts him off with a whimper. He narrows his eyes, as if waiting for her to calm down. Calm down? He is strangling her!

When all else fails, she decides to use her legs. His body presses down immediately, prying her thighs open until her legs are on either side of him, "Behave, now."

Tris whimpers again, going back to gripping his wrist. It is as if her throat is squeezing shut. She gasps for air. Or is it all in her head? Is he just trying to hold her down? Because his fingers do not squeeze her at all. After a few seconds, she realizes that she can breathe at a normal pace. No need to gasp. It's okay. Eric won't hurt her.

She pants heavily, taking advantage of all the air she would have lost if Eric was an actual murderer.

He might not be after a kill. He might have frightened her. Yet, his behavior does not change, "Having that attitude will not get you anywhere. Do you hear me, Stiff?"

She nods quickly, running her tongue along her dry lips. His eyes follow it. And he licks his own. She was not trying to be suggestive. Panting with your mouth wide open can leave one's lips feeling like snake skin.

"You will not behave like that around me, do you understand?" She nods again, too distracted to pay attention to his words. It will come back and bite her in the backside later, she knows it, "Good girl."

Eric presses his lips against hers, closing his eyes in the process. She half expected it. The warmth he emits is almost unbearable. She can even feel him there... radiating heat into the thin boxer shorts he gave her to wear last night. A weird rush of excitement swims down to her core, heating up every inch of of her lower regions. She could have concealed her moan of pleasure if Eric wouldn't have started to grind against her. He feels so close. There is only a couple of layers separating them from skin contact. Even the thought makes her shudder.

Cold air reaches Tris' neck and that is when she knows. His hand is gone. She is free. She is free to go. Push him off. Run out of his apartment. While he is so preoccupied smooching her face off, she could do it. And she almost does. Her pleasure stops her.

She starts to kiss him back, not aware of anything but the knowledge of this kiss being better than last night's. She moves her head in rhythm with his, creating a perfect _smack_ with their lips. A low growl at the back of Eric's throat makes her open her eyes. She suddenly pulls back, her heart pounding in her chest.

"What?" he asks, almost succeeding at sounding annoyed.

Tris presses the back of her head into the pillow, making a big gap between them. This feels too good. That's what.

Eric leans back, eyebrows furrowed, tongue pushed against his cheek. He leans until he is sat up. Then grabs her thighs and hoists them up to his hips. The way he grips her there makes his fingers slide up her boxer shorts. She gasps at the contact.

"Are you curious?" his voice sounds prominent.

All she can do is nod. It's not a lie. She really is curious. But unsure how much of this she can handle.

His blue eyes light up like a little child's. Instinctively, her finger goes up to her face so that she can bite on it. It is as if somehow her hand can cover her features, averting his attention. Obviously, it doesn't work. Now he stares at her more intently. Being suggestive without realizing- that would be Tris' super power.

Suddenly, his hands leave her thighs, fingertips lingering on her skin. And there she is- sprawled out on his bed, legs bent, hair scattered around her head like a halo. He leans back. Tris thinks for a moment that he might have got second thoughts. That he doesn't want to do this- whatever it might be. But then Eric starts unbuckling his belt. Slowly. Like they have all eternity and beyond. She glances up at him, holding her breath when she realizes that he has been staring again.

Her mouth must be hanging open when his belt leaves the hoops in his pants because his lips curl into a smirk. He is clearly enjoying this.

Tris rests her hands on her stomach, lacing her fingers together awkwardly. He is still between her legs. And still staring down at her. She doesn't know what to do. And offers him a shy smile.

He gives her a confused look, "Do you know how much that mouth of yours can handle?"

"Are you talking about cursing?"

A smirk slithers across his face, "No, Tris. Something else."

He grabs both ends of his belt and presses them together to make a giant leather loop. Then, he shoves her bent legs down onto the mattress, edging closer to her face and straddling her tiny waist. Evidently, he tries to keep his weight off her, but her breaths still come in short and quiet gasps. She looks up at him, watching as he tosses the belt near her head. What is he doing?

Her hands fly up to his thighs, keeping his hips at a distance from her face. But he just edges closer and closer and closer. Until she can smell the pungent center of his manliness.

He unzips his fly without further hesitation, as if it will not make her freak out. What on earth is he doing?

"Eric," she whispers, her mouth going dry. His hand dips into his pants and in a couple of seconds he retrieves his semi-hard cock. Her heart stops. Her eyes widen. But the look on his face is everything but anxiety.

She watches as he gives himself a couple of strokes, a crease appearing between his eyebrows, "Open your mouth."

She is too stunned to do anything. The tip of his manhood glistens in this light, foreskin engulfing it and then bringing it back as he strokes himself. It seems that his manhood grows bigger with each passing second. Soon, it looks too big to fit into his pants.

"Do as I say," he orders, his breath hitching in his throat. She does. Curious, right?

Eric's hand grips the back of her head, pushing her forward. She holds her breath at first, not knowing what to do or what may come. And after squeezing her eyes shut, she feels his warm length nudging into the back of her throat.

His soft groans fill the room, making her relax. She must be doing it right if that is the reaction she gets from him. Her body heats up, sweating in creases under her clothes. The heat radiating from his thighs crushes her, sending her into a frenzy. Something came over her long before she started kissing him. It could have been the Dauntless. It could have been her willpower to be brave.

Soon, her hand joins in. She uses it to stroke the base of his cock as the taste of him in her mouth becomes way too familiar. They develop a slow rhythm. His hips thrust towards her face, and instead of pulling away, she accepts it willingly.

The tip of her tongue flicks across his tip whenever the chance appears. After building her confidence with each passing groan she manages to evict from him, her hesitation lessens. She sucks him as he throws his head back, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. A raucous moan breaks from him and it takes her a few seconds to realize that he is saying something, "Enough."

She slips him out of her mouth, curious to know what will happen next. Her not-so-innocent eyes gaze up at him, watching as he grits his teeth and pants heavily.

In less than a second, his expression changes from breathless to dominant. His icy stare causes a shiver to run down her spine. When will that look ever stop doing that to her? Eric pulls away from her and she takes a deep breath, thankful for all the air he has given back to her.

Tris licks her lips as his taste in her mouth becomes stale. He watches her, of course. He always watches.

Suddenly, his hand creeps up to the belt he previously dropped and picks it up. He makes a loop again and takes a deep breath, almost glaring down at her. She starts counting the seconds. One… two… three…

"Give me your hands," he breathes.

She blinks at him.

"Give me your hands," he repeats, pressing harder. She complies immediately, extending her arms and pressing her wrists together, palms up. The belt wraps around her wrists so tightly that she has to bite her lip to conceal her squeal. Eric's piercing twitches on his eyebrow.

He pushes her arms over her head and ties them to the headboard, tugging one end of the belt to secure it. She gasps, hands going a pale shade of blue as pins start prodding below her skin, "No running away now."

But she wouldn't run anyway… would she?

As his hands trail down to her boxer shorts, he takes advantage of any little bump and curve that may be in the way. He kneads her breasts and then squeezes her hips and then finally yanks at the material. Tris has to mentally thank herself for keeping her panties on last night instead of going commando in the boxers he told her to wear. Eric does not look too pleased though. He huffs but then recovers and runs his hands over her black underwear.

There is a raging burn in her lower region. She tries to rub her legs together but it is rather hard to do with Eric between her legs. Instead, she whimpers quietly, trying to give him a hint on what she needs.

He seems to get it because he smirks. But he chooses to do nothing about it. He peels his pants down, giving himself a couple of slow strokes. She watches intently, her face heating up. This is happening. This is actually happening.

"Patience," he growls quietly, preoccupied with his own pleasure. She raises her hips, meeting his huge hand as he presses her back down into the mattress. A tingling sensation starts up along with the burning in her core. How tight is this belt, really? She yanks it backward and forward, furrowing her eyebrows as it hardly loosens. She yanks harder. Nothing. Nothing but compression on her skin.

He is enjoying this too much.

Finally, his hand leaves his erect member and joins his other one on Tris' hips. She moans when he traces his fingers down the wet patch on her panties. Her hips twitch forward again, under the influence of something other than her. Realizing that she can't control her movements, she decides to close her eyes and try and force herself to calm down.

"I said: patience," he growls in the dark, "I don't like to repeat myself, initiate." The light streams in when she opens her eyes. She is almost blinded by it. Eric's features are smudged by the yellow halo breaking through the window behind him.

Everyone is probably at breakfast. Having bacon on toast... And really strong coffee... But here she is, frolicking with one of the leaders. Oh, God, what if somebody finds out?

A gaspy moan erupts from Tris' mouth when Eric's fingers press harder against her folds. It isn't even skin on skin contact. But that does not matter. She still feels the urgency of his fingers and her wet slits. She imagines the electric volt sparking between them. She definitely feels it.

"I can feel how wet you are," he slurs above her, "I'm not even doing anything yet." Yet. She loves that word. Especially right at this moment. Something will definitely happen. She is not afraid anymore.

"Then do something," she bites her lip, not embarrassed by her words. He grins down at her, clearly pleased by how blunt all this made her.

"Do what?" he quirks an eyebrow, pretending to be clueless. She nearly rolls her eyes, but at the last minute remembers where 'that kind of attitude' will get her.

She gasps again as his fingers trail down her tingling folds through the fabric covering them, "You knoooow," her voice is a whine.

Her legs rub against his, desperately trying to get some friction. But she is nowhere near gliding against anything. Eric clears his throat. It sounds authorative like it usually does, although something is off. His breathing, perhaps? "Do that again and I will tie your legs up too."

Tris groans in frustration, and to him it probably sounds like a moan of pleasure, "Eric, please."

"What?" He leans in suddenly, until she can feel his hot breath on her chin, "What do you want? Say it and I'll do it." His lips press against hers for two short seconds. And the electric shock is back. She twitches.

"Touch me," she whispers, feeling his lips graze her nose.

In a split second, cold air brushes across her pubic bone, down to her folds. The sweat collected there washes over from warm to freezing. She shivers and kicks her panties off her lean legs. Eric doesn't touch her though. She has to blink twice to clear her cloudy vision. He is still above her, taking in every inch of her skin. But somehow for him, it is not enough. His eyes dance across her black shirt before landing on hers. His look is too intense. She glances away at least three times.

When she half expects him to take her shirt off-... well, he does. But in a very unorthodox way. His hands grip the sleeves and as if tearing a piece of paper in half, he tears the shirt. She flinches as her heart finds its crazy pace again. His eyes take all of her in. She starts feeling a little self conscious. If only her hands weren't tied up so bloody hard.

The bruises, the scratches, the open wounds, more ribs sticking out than muscles... he sees it all. First with his eyes and then with his hands. Tris flinches again when he grips her left breast. He strikes a dark look at her. What? Now she can't have low self esteem? She will get into trouble for that as well?

"I've seen worse," he murmurs. She stares at him in shock. But he doesn't notice. His mouth is already glued to her skin.

Before she can change her mind, she breathes the word, "Asshole," so quietly, she barely hears herself. He does. Of course, he does. Perfect.

His eyebrows raise along with his now black eyes. This time she can't help but hold his gaze. It is as if her life depends on it, "What did you just say?" His voice is calm. Too calm.

Could she lie? Be a coward for the sake of not getting a beating? Or worse? No, that is not an option. This is Dauntless. She shakes her head anyway, unable to stammer a single word. It is not a lie. She just shook her head. The thing she really regrets out of this whole scenario is that he has stopped touching her.

"Too bad for you," he groans quietly, sitting up to pull his shirt over his head. Her mouth hangs open. He is probably more Dauntless that everybody in the faction combined. Her eyes trail down to the perfect 'V' above his manhood. The black hairs making their way to his toned six pack increase rapidly until they create a flawless patch on his chest. The geometric tattoos on his wrists build their way up to his shoulders, spilling contents of the Erudite symbol along with Dauntless out towards his chest. But they never quite reach it, "I was going to untie you," he slips two of his fingers past her folds, making her cry out. She was caught off guard, "And touch you, like you wanted," he groans quietly, sliding his glistening fingers out of her, "But what did I say about watching your attitude?"

"Eric, please-"

"Please?" He raises his eyebrows again, creating four curvy lines on his forehead, "I suppose I should fuck some sense into you."

He towers over her, extending his arm so that he can reach the nightstand. She hears him pushing a few blunt objects around in the drawer before coming across a wrapper and pulling it out. He darts her a dangerous look before ripping the square package with his teeth and spitting out the waste. She grinds her wrists together, still desperate for an escape. There is no point, is there? Only Eric can untie her.

She watches as he wraps his penis in a transparent condom, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. She swallows her nerves, knowing that what is about to happen cannot be undone. There is no escape. Not from his belt, not from this situation. Unless she screams for help, or demands him to stop. Deep down, she doesn't want to stop.

Everything flashes before her eyes. Eric is on top of her now, chests pressing together. He stares down at her, as if confused about something. And then he does it. He kisses her. Softly, lovingly... an Abnegation kiss. She tastes his warm lips, closing her eyes slowly. She wonders for a moment if he is savoring this moment as well.

A sharp pain pries her eyes open. She breaks away from the kiss, unable to conceal her cry. Eric frowns, but continues to move. Not eagerly. Slowly. He rocks his hips and each time goes deeper by a millimeter. It is too much to take in, even if he is trying to lessen the impact. One thing is for certain: he had forgiven her already.

His hands slide up and down the sides of her body, landing under her armpits when she widens her eyes at him. He looks back, pressing his forehead against her own, "You're so tight."

"Please," she whispers, unable to tell what she is begging for anymore. She throws her head back against the pillow, allowing him to stretch her beyond what she thought was possible. Once the tears in her eyes dry up, his pace is relentless. She imagines him having two bold words inked on his chest: No Mercy. That tattoo would suit him. Especially in this context.

"Gah," he grunts, wrapping his arms around her trembling body. All the air she had, leaves her lungs, causing her to cough one or two times. The burning in her area has subsided, but replaced with a more urgent sensation. He plunges in and out of her, rubbing that mystery sensation away. Her hands start to itch. She squeezes her fingers into fists, an animal firing up inside her. She moans loudly, starting to breathe that word again.

"Please! Eric, please," she takes a deep breath, losing it as he slams into her again, "Untie me, please!"

To her surprise, he reaches over her head and yanks at the leather belt holding her hands hostage. It loosens and falls around her head like a dead snake. The metal bit wacks her on the forehead, but she barely feels it. Her hands dart straight for his hair, tugging at the longer locks and smoothing down the buzzed hair behind his ears. His face scrunches up before pressing against her chest, kissing over every bit of skin available to him. His pace never falters.

At one point, she drags her nails down his back. At one point, she shamelessly screams his name, aware of how wild she must sound to him but not really caring either. She has come to the conclusion that what makes her confident does not necessarily have to be a game that she can win, or the amount of people she can beat up faster. Her smirk widens then, as she traces her fingers down Eric's rising and falling chest.

Dauntless do not teach you how to be confident. Something else does. You just have to find it first.

 **You guys have no idea how long this chapter took me to write. But it is finished. Finally, finished. I hope you enjoyed this story, and the surprise lemon that came with it.**

 **I will write more stories after my University business is out of the way. I'll be back soon. Sooner than you think :)**


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